


.o1.

by BlueStrawberryIII, geekicats



Series: Chronicles of Damatia [Scenes] [1]
Category: Chronicles of Damatia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueStrawberryIII/pseuds/BlueStrawberryIII, https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekicats/pseuds/geekicats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Arron Loses Someone Close to Him.</p>
<p>Trilogy 1, Book 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	.o1.

Arron’s heartbeat sped up. He had come back from a hunting trip to the sight of his tribe’s camp burning. People ran about, screaming. Strange men covered in black tattoos raced from tent to tent with torches and swords. Arron’s eyes darted from home to home. Where was Nyssa? Last time he’d seen her, she had been in the healer’s tent to get some herbs for her morning sickness. But when he went to find her, he saw that it had already burned down.

His jaw clenched. How dare these men come and rape and pillage! This was a sacred time that all the tribes celebrated. It wasn’t right. The brunette ducked behind a smoldering shelter as the raging foreigners thundered past him. Nyssa, Nyssa, where’s Nyssa?! His breath came out in shallow pants. Arron could feel the bloodlust rising in his veins, but he forced it down. Now wasn’t the time to go into a rage.

Slowly, the shrieks and bellows decreased, instead replaced with the moans of those in the throes of death. Arron looked up. People lay in pools of their own blood, some with entrails hanging out of gaping wounds. Warriors, women, children, and babes at suck all lay as if tossed aside by the carless offspring of a giant. Arron saw people who he’d known since he was a child laying in awkward, eagle-spread positions. Quentin, Arron’s milkbrother, lay facing the sky, throat slit. Something cracked, though, when he found his sister.

She was lying face down in the blood soaked ground, shining auburn hair splayed around her head, framing it in a deceptive serenity. It reminded him of how she looked when she was asleep, lying half off of her cot, limbs carelessly tossed to her sides.  
“Nyssa?” he croaked, getting down on his knees, lifting her hair from her face to check for breath. The logical part of him told Arron that the weeping gash through his sister’s stomach was far too serious for her to have survived. But he couldn't just accept that his sister was dead.

No breath - nothing. Arron felt tears prick at the edges of his eyes. Why were the gods so cruel? Nyssa was the only family had left. And now she was gone. His tribe was destroyed. He was alone. "Agh!"

Angrily running a hand through his hair, Arron kicked at a fallen tent, sending dying sparks flying. This will not go unpunished. Murder of the mother and child is a crime worse than murdering your brother. The boy carried his now-cold sister out into the sun. Ashes drifted down like dark snow, catching in Arron's hair and stinging his eyes. Nyssa would have a proper burial. He wouldn't leave her to rot and be taken by carrion.

The grave was finished by sunset. Arron had picked his sister's favorite place - the willow grove by the river. She'd loved to sit there and sing quietly to herself and the child growing inside her. Now she'd never have the chance to be a mother, to hold her firstborn. Arron rubbed at his eyes roughly, smearing his face with dirt. "You won't go unavenged, sister." He lay a hand over the mound of freshly-dug dirt. "Goodbye..."

Arron stood, and, with a huff, straightened his shoulders. He would go to the old gods' home - or, rather, as close as he could get to it.

Arron traveled to the very heartland of the tribes, the center of their lands. The caves were many there, and deep. It was the closes anyone could physically get to the land of the gods. Many went there on a holy pilgrimage, others to complete their passage to manhood. And now Arron went to seek vengeance.

From the outside, the caves were plain: moss lightly covered the opening and surrounding areas. But the plainness soon ended. At the entrance, an intricate pattern showed from underneath the moss, continuing far inside the caves. Torches lined the walls, casting dim shadows over the carvings. Small, shining veins of lapis and gold shone in the light, and the entire place thrummed with energy.

  
Arron narrowed his eyes as he entered the caves. He could feel the whole, thrumming energy of the place, right down to his bones. It was an ancient sort of power, one that spoke of many centuries of life. Some little part of Arron urged him to turn back, to go and start a new tribe. However, the anger in him was overpowering, and, mixed with as much grief as it was, to convince him to stop would've been a feat only gods could have accomplished.

He trailed his calloused hands over the intricate designs in the walls, feeling the roughness of the stone, the sheer power of the place. A draft, thick with the scent of dust and rotting meat, blew forth from the dark depths of the cave. Wrinkling his nose, Arron continued onwards until he came to the first of many rooms full of offerings left for the gods. Ancient, molding carcasses of meat littered the floor, along with crumbling fruits, beautifully sewn clothing, and intricate weaving depicting the miraculous acts of the gods.

The boy passed through many room like that, but each was emptier than the last - as he went deeper, the older the sacrifices became. Most had turned into dust. Some bones - human bones, Arron noted - were left, but crumbled away when he reached down to them.

As he descended further, Arron became aware of a light buzzing sound, the kind that comes with complete and utter silence. But this buzzing was different. Whispers, quiet as the night, flitted in and out of his eardrums. They teased Arron, their meaning just beyond his reach. It was frustrating beyond belief, and Arron found himself led down further and further into the dark caves. The torches along the walls had disappeared long ago, replaced by Spirit Stone, a rock highly treasured because of its rarity and connection to the holy deities. It glowed with a soft blue light, just enough to show primitive drawings on the walls. Scenes from long ago danced alongside him, of animals long dead and battles fought long ago.

And yet the whispers led him onward, their words becoming clearer with every step he took. Half-heard promises of power and vengeance rang in Arron's ears, urging him to continue. The further down he went, the more Spirit Stone lined the walls. Thin, spidery lines ran all along the cavern, creating what almost looked like vines. He followed them, looking on as more and more joined the group.

Then, the passage came to a dead end. The veins of Spirit Stone converged at the back of the cave, circling around a peculiar object.

It was set solidly into the stone, seemingly part of it. A smooth platform raised a couple inches off of the cave's floor. Runes, the likes of which Arron had never seen before, were carved into the platform, their lines seeming to dance in the pulsing Spirit Stone light. He could now make out everything the voices were saying to him.

_Open it_ , one said, _And we can help you._

_Yes_ , said another, _All the seal needs is a human's touch, and we are free._

_We were wronged, like you. Let us seek out revenge together!_

Arron's head was swirling with their enticements, glad to have found allies. He knelt on the ground in front of the rock platform and placed his hands solidly on the cold stone.

Instantly, something changed. The air grew frigid. Underneath him, the ground began to shake. In the walls, the Spirit Stone glowed brighter than ever. Some of the light dripped to the floor. The shining liquid amassed, each drop only making it grow larger. Around the room, more figures were forming out of the substance, slowly turning to the shapes of humans. An echoing laugh sounded in Arron's head--or was it outside of his head? He couldn't tell--and the figures smiled to each other.

_Thank you_ , rumbled one to Arron's left. He looked like a warrior.

"You'll help me now, yes?" he asked, looking from figure to figure in turn as they slowly rose from the ground to float in the small space.

From in front of him, a beautiful female figure giggled. _Silly boy,_ she said, _We do not take orders from you._

His breath caught in his throat. “W… What? We agreed. We had a deal.”

She smiled, a slit opening in the water to show the rock wall behind her. _We had no such thing._

“But, what about revenge? You want revenge, I’ll help you get it, if you help me.” Arron’s brows knit together in a confused scowl. He’d made a deal… hadn’t he? His pondering distracted him, so he didn’t see the spirit darken in color and expand in height. When he looked back up, she was almost unrecognizable from the being he had seen before, tall and seemingly made of darkness itself. And, in a heartbeat, she was upon him, engulfing his entire world. All Arron could see was blackness.

_Your revenge is not our concern_ , echoed the woman, _But since you freed us, we will leave you with a gift._

The air was still for a moment, utter silence coating Arron. Then a bit of wind caressed his ear. _We will let you live._

The darkness left then, sweeping out in a burst of cold air. Arron fell to the floor, the only sign of his encounter being the abnormally bright glow of the Spirit Stone.


End file.
